Black Phoenix
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2002-10-05 06:26:33 (UTC)

When I was Standing

I said that going over my history is helpful, but I haven't
done it. So, I suppose I ought to start. Let's see...

Well, my "life" started when I was born. I was a baby, then
a toddler, then a child. In Kindergarden I started going to
Seattle Country Day School. I moved into a fairly rich
neighborhood. I met my best friend, Philip. I followed the
beaten path until I was ten. Nothing special happened until
I was ten. I wasn't a special kid.

At ten, however, things started happening. I was still at
Seattle Country Day School (SCDS). I was in fourth grade, I
think. My best friend left at the end of fourth grade, and
I was sad. But these things happen. It's a good thing he
lived four houses away. Then fifth grade came along, and a
boy came that I knew and was friends with in preschool. I
thought I would be friends again. But I wasn't. He was
cool, and I was not. He made fun of me, and I took it all
and hid in the corner. Sometimes he was nice. He would say
such friendly remarks as "hi" and "want to trade Magic
Cards?". This would, in short, make my day worthwhile. I
remember vivdly events with him that shaped my self esteem
drasticly. One such event was when he got a movie we both
liked. He called me that day and asked if he could watch it
on our TV. Our TV was 64" across, so the temptation was
obvious. 'of course' I said. Maybe if I let him use the TV,
he would be my friend. He came over and stuck the video in
the VCR. We watched it. He left. The entire time he said
three things: "hi", "where's the remote?" and "thanks". It
wasn't an uplifting expirience for me. One day in writing
class shortly thereafter, I wrote a paper that had, among
other things, this in it: "I hate myself and everyone. I
don't want to be here. I want to be at home. I hate
everyone. I hate everyone. I hate everyone. I want to play
nintendo." I was in fifth grade.

Now, home life wasn't all that spectacular. My mom and I
got into fights quite often. I would stomp out of the room,
only to hide behind the door and hear her call me things
like "Little asshole" and "ungrateful bastard". My father
would say nothing. He was scared to death of her. My
brother, sensing that my mother was the representation of
God on earth, repeated her every word to me with a
fanatical vigor. I started falling behind in school. I
started not doing homework. I did such unimaginable things
as turning projects in late. Yes, my perfect, success bound
educational life was beginning to derail.

Of course, I had no friends by then. I hated them all. They
talked about parties they had (parties in sixth grade) that
I hadn't been invited to. In a grade with twelve people,
it's quite a blow not to be invited to a sixth grade party.
I sat alone at lunch, I talked to no one. All I could do
was think about getting home. I don't even know what I did
at home back then. I probably watched TV.

This may not seem like a big deal. It's not abuse, it's not
even depression yet. But this is five years ago. I still
have quite a bit of time to get to where I am now. I'll
finish later.

And so the scars accumulate.

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